On Tuesday, my dad picked up me and my friend Abby after school. After dropping her off, he and I started yelling at each other. It ended up with me getting punched in the side of the head and kicked out of the car.

I had to walk about four miles home with my bookbag and viola case because I had no money for the bus. When I got home at six-thirty, both of my parents had left for church. There was no food to be found, so I went to sleep and woke up the next morning.

That's another thing, every night for the past five nights I've had thirteen or more hours of sleep, when I usually average about six. That slightly worries me, though I think it's just from being sick.

My mother has been bothering me about cleaning my room the past week, at least moreso than usual. However I couldn't because I've been having those bizarre sleep spells. When I came home from school today, I was pissed to see that she had taken the liberty of "cleaning" my room for me.

Cleaning...right. Most of my books, and papers, cds, clothes, two of my paper journals (with both of the locks newly broken) and even my shoes were in the trash. While I was at school, she decided what I needed and what I didn't.

I just sat down on the bed, put my head on my hands, and asked, "Why did you do this?"

"The Vaidez family is coming from Ft. Wayne tomorrow and they'll be sleeping in this room."

"You didn't have to do this you know, the fucking room was fine."

Right then, she threw the glass she was wiping down onto the floor where it shattered almost effortlessly, "IT WAS FINE FOR A PIG!"

She grabbed the garbage can and proceeded to empty all of its contents onto the carpet in my room. I sat dumbfounded, until I gathered myself and screamed, "What the fuck is your problem you lunatic!?"

We yelled for a while then. My sentences kept getting shorter and louder, and she kept getting more and more incomprehensible.

The conflict came to a point when she grabbed my guitar and ran out of my room. I got up and grabbed it forcefully back from her. She started wildly punching me, hitting me on my back and my right arm. I tried to just hold her back until finally I couldn't take anymore.

I hit her in the face with the back of my fist. I hit her hard. She fell to the floor. She started sobbing. I walked back into my room, and locked the door.

When my dad came home, he and I discussed whether or not we should take her to a doctor to put her on medication.

Her mood swings have gotten bad.

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